Some enchanted evening
by madelinear
Summary: Is my muse crawling back? God, I hope so. Standard fluff, but what I hope is slightly different. PLEASE review... maybe YOU can entice my muse to come back, since I can't.


Some enchanted evening  
by: Sugar Princess  
  


  
Disclaimer: No one belongs to me. *sigh* The song 'Almost in your arms' belongs to... Look at that, I know: Raymond Evans and Jay Livingston. Que cool.  
Author's note: Whee! My muse, I hope, I pray, is coming back, and attribute this lovely little ficcer to FCATs, which were a waste of my life, but while I sat there for 45 minutes three days in a row, this idea came to me.  
Dedication: to the FCAT people and two my two amigas Kara and Hannah, who have been simply mahvelous at helping me over my writer's block. *waves* hi!  


  


  
  
The heavy door creaked in protest as Christian pushed it open. It was obviously not happy to have its home disturbed. _Go away_, it whined. _Leave us in peace_.  
  
"My peace is here, too." Christian retorted under his breath as he slipped inside.  
  
Little puffs of dirt rose from the red carpet directly under him. Ahead of him, the moon gleamed oddly off the highly polished yet terribly dusty floor. He looked down at the emblem in front of him- a giant red windmill with golden sails. He glared down at it, silently blaming it for everything he had suffered.  
  
It would all be over soon.  
  
His shoes made a hollow sound as they tread the wood so worn with dances. He vaguely wondered how many feet had walked on these very planks. How many broken hearts had these walls seen; how many lost loves, how many arguments, declarations of love, vows of revenge, spiteful accusations?  
  
He turned in a full circle, taking everything in. The curtains were still drawn shut; they had never been opened after that night. The gold shone from the red velvet with an odd shine, and Christian noticed a glimmering on the floor. Closer inspection revealed that it was a forgotten jewel- a diamond.  
  
The floor was littered with forgotten opera glasses, gloves that were left behind, a handkerchief embroidered with the initials 'H.K.'. A had with an enormous wine-colored feather, a wooden and painted-silk fan. The audience had left in a hurry when they had realized that their applause was futile and their performers were haughty and cold. It was not until the next morning, when the women fainted and the men gasped, that they found out that the lovely lead actress had died on that very stage whilst they clapped, none the wiser.  
  
He climbed up the stairs to the stage. For a moment he disappeared, and then a great screeching noise filled the hall. The luxurious red curtains drew apart, revealing the broken and dusty lightbulbs and brittle rose-petals that were the only remnants of 'Spectacular Spectacular'.  
  
Christian strode out to the center of the stage. He threw his arms out, filled with a rage that had been building up for years.  
  
"There! Are you happy now? You're great stage spectacular was a success. People will talk about it for years to come. You got what you wanted! The show went on, and without a hitch! Why, the walls shook with all the applause! Or was that with tears? Oh, that's right, there was a small sacrifice involved, wasn't there? Something had to be given up to the great deities of show-business, didn't there? Some beautiful maiden had to be sacrificed. And they couldn't settle for second-best, now, could they? No! They needed the best. They needed HER!" the last word was so violent that it reverberated around the empty hall, echoing back to him: _HER, HER, HER, HER..._ "They needed MY girl, didn't they? They had to take MY reason for living, my darling, the love of MY life, didn't they? And for what? A couple of 'bravo's and a paltry smattering of applause? Well," his voice dripped with sarcasm as he raged at the darkness. "Bravissimo. I'm awed and amazed at the results. The show must go on, no matter the cost. And it did." There was a clicking noise in the darkness, and something heavy and black and metallic shone in Christian's hand. "The show will go on." He said, and there was another noise in the hall.  
  
Lights flared up so quickly the assault it had on the eyes was almost violent. Instantly the dark hall had become illuminated, and was full of people dancing. Music filled the air, and Christian looked around in awe. The stage, the curtains, everything was gone. It was back to the glory days of the Moulin Rouge, where the champagne flowed freely and the skirts flew up unabashedly. Money stuck to your champagne-sticky shoes, and diamonds were tossed around as carelessly as though they were nothing but glass. Nothing had any worth but the girls at the Moulin.  
  
The riotous music stopped, and the band started playing a softer tune. Christian took this opportunity to look around. Why, there was Toulouse, drunk as always, slobbering over who appeared to Mome... and the Narcoleptic Argentinean (what _was_ his name?) was dancing with China Doll... Nini was entertaining some old man (even the sight of her was welcome to Christian's haunted eyes)... Arabia was off to the side downing some brightly-colored drink... The Doc and Satie were talked together at the Boho's table... Zidler was talking with someone...  
  
And then the tune swelled and a voice was heard:  
  
"You're near, that moment's here  
I'm almost in your arms,"  
  
Out of no where, she had appeared. He almost felt physical pain as his longing for her increased.  
  
"Tonight the mood is right  
I'm almost in your arms,"  
  
Christian looked around wildly. Where was she? Where was that wonderful voice coming from?  
  
Just as Christian thought he would go mad, she appeared before him. She was wearing the Hindu courtesan's wedding gown, which he found a bit odd, until he realized that he wore the penniless sitar player's jacket.  
  
She had a radiant white light around her (heaven's light or just a strobe?), and she smiled tenderly at him.  
  
"One sigh, one word and I  
Will rush to your embrace," she sang, and held her arms out. Stuck in a dream that he would never willingly leave, Christian went towards her.  
  
"Say that certain word  
Sigh that certain sigh  
And with all my heart  
To your arms I'll fly..."   
  
Their arms encircled one another, and is if by magic, everyone paired up. The music was soft, unlike anything Christian has ever heard at the Rouge, but he was not going to be the one to complain. After all, he was holding Satine again.  
  
"It's strange how we are changed  
By things that seem so small  
One look can write a book  
One touch can say it all,"  
  
Satine smiled at him, and trailed a finger along his cheek, tracing his jawbone. He held her closer, and she lay her head on his shoulder, sighing.  
  
"We've known these nights alone  
And now we'll find our way  
I'm almost in your arms  
Almost in your arms to stay."  
  
Christian pulled away in surprise. The last line had been spoken with such heartbreaking sadness that it pulled at Christian's heart. Satine had a blissful smile on her face, yet her eyes shone with unshed tears. Concerned and bewildered, he looked at her carefully. She laughed, as if telling him not to worry, before pressing her cheek to his. Her cheek was smooth and cool, and nothing had ever felt better than that face against his own.  
  
A musical interlude started to play, they swayed gently, moving very little. Christian found his voice.  
  
"I missed you," he choked out. "I missed you so much, I wanted to die."  
  
"I missed you too, love." She said. "But, sweetheart, that's no excuse for your behavior."  
  
Christian looked at her in surprise. "Yes, darling, you were quite a naughty boy." She smiled winningly. "I still love you, though. And," Her eyes sparkled happily. "You wrote our story. I was so pleased. I was never more proud of you than the day you took it to the publisher."  
  
"Then can I stay with you?"  
  
"Stay with me?" asked Satine in surprise. "Why, of course not. Don't be silly."  
  
"But I'm here," Christian said, not understanding. "How am I here?"  
  
"In this perpetual party?" Satine asked, giggling softly. "You needed to see me. And I needed to see you. Christian," she dwelt upon his name lovingly, as if saying the name itself gave her pleasure. "Darling, it's not your time."  
  
The music picked up again, and Satine cupped his face in her hands.   
  
"It's strange how we are changed  
By things that seem so small  
One look can write a book  
One touch can say it all,"  
  
They both knew the end was drawing closer, and their embraces tightened, as if closeness could put off the inevitable.   
  
"We've known these nights alone  
And now we'll find our way  
I'm almost in your arms  
Almost in your arms,"  
  
The music slowly died away, and all the people around them blurred together like a watercolor painting caught in the rain. Everyone melted away, and Christian found him and Satine waltzing in a white space of nothingness. Slowly, the pair stopped dancing.  
  
"Must I go?" he asked. Satine smiled sadly, and straightened his jacket, nodding.  
  
"Yes. You have to go and make me proud. You promise?"  
  
Sniffing, Christian nodded. Satine stood on her tiptoes, and kissed his forehead. "Now, you be a good boy until I see you again, alright?" she kissed one cheek, and then the other, before pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was so sweet and pure that neither could draw away from it for the longest time.  
  
They stepped away from one another for a second, and instantly Satine began to fade from his visage.  
  
And just before she had entirely disappeared from his visage, he heard the soft melody of her voice, singing alone:  
  
"Almost in your arms  
To stay,"  
  
And then, there he was, back on the stage in the empty hall with something heavy in his hand and the heavenly smell of Satine's hair lingering in the fabric of his jacket.  
  
He threw the gun to the side. He would make Satine proud. He jauntily hopped down form the stage, and as he left the abandoned dance hall, one could just barely hear him whistling the tune of the song that echoed throughout the old building.


End file.
